


Sincerity

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Series: We Never Were Innocents [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the darkening sky could lift more than one hour from this day, there are words I would never have said, nor have heard you say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincerity

Loki sits cross-legged on the bed; he’s utterly still save for his eyes. They search Thor’s face restlessly, putting him under intense scrutiny. “Make them cruel,” He clarifies suddenly, fingers digging into his thighs with perverse excitement, and just the word on his lips is uttered like a seduction. It’s the slightest bit unsettling, but even that is part of his charm.

Thor selects his lies carefully. Perhaps it is indeed folly, as his brother suggests, that he continues to attempt this game with him, but it is one of the few things that remain to bring some glimmer of interest to Loki’s increasingly cold gaze. “Cruel.” Loki’s voice had been sharp as a blade around the word, but it doesn’t seem to fit right in Thor’s mouth when he echoes. “Two lies, one truth.”

“Anytime you please.” He’s lapsed back into a state of feigned disinterest, considering Thor like he’s not quite certain his brother will indeed be able to say anything worth his attention.

“I desire our father dead, so that I might have the throne.” Loki perks up, and it’s hard to keep from feeling sick at the satisfaction writing itself across his face. “I think of you when I bed the lady Sif. And I think you ergi.” The words are ugly in his mouth and make Thor uneasy. He does not wish to even voice such things, lies as they may be. Loki smirks for a moment in response, catching Thor’s eyes and holding their contact until Thor is shamed enough to look away.

“I’m flattered.” His tone has retreated back to one of boredom, and when Thor looks back to him he sees his brother stretching out like a housecat – graceful and nearly obscene. “Though you should really make it more of a challenge.” He considers a moment, smiles, “Tell me, have you called out my name in her bed? Do you pull her hair and imagine it mine; bite her and search for your mark on me the next morning?”

Thor could never hope to classify all of the different nuances to Loki’s speech. Right now his brother’s words may be filth, but they’re spoken like the rasp of velvet and silk. The only logical thing to do is lean forward until he can capture Loki’s face between his palms; tug him closer until Thor can taste his brother’s words for himself.

It has the benefit of silencing the snakes spilling forth from Loki’s lips. Thor tongues his way inside Loki’s mouth and could swear he tastes the honey of the other god’s speech for that lingering moment. It may be intended viciously, but indeed everything Loki says carries a familiar hint of poetry, vague though it may be.

Until Loki pulls away. “You do,” he confirms, looking impressed – though whether he’s impressed with Thor, or simply himself, Thor can never tell. “Has she not called you out on how poor of a liar you are yet?”

“Sif has no care beyond that I please her.” Thor defends himself. He’s used to being on the defensive with Loki, but he doesn’t suspect his brother will linger on this. It is enough to feed his ego, assure him of the power he holds.

He’s correct. “Then I suppose it is my turn.” Loki’s eyes glint like diamonds, hard and beautiful and unreadable. “I do not express genuine emotion, except as it furthers my purpose. I dream of making slaves out of all the nine realms. I too, wish father dead so that I might have the throne.”

“Let us stop playing this game brother,” Thor demands, because he does not wish to know which of Loki’s statements the truth hides behind. His eyes still glitter with mirth, feeding off of Thor’s discomfort and the success of his trap.

“Don’t you wish to know which lies I hold dear?”

“Loki, stop this.”

“I do not dream of anything so trite,” his brother whispers, tossing Thor an ill-gotten bone as he slinks up the bed. His body winds sinuously until he is on top of Thor, urging his hands to the headboard.

Despite not wishing the truth, Thor knows to eliminate Loki’s second statement as a lie, and it brings the other two into much sharper focus, closer than he’s comfortable with. It’s all the time Loki needs to turn the pillowcases into iron manacles around his wrists.

He’s at a complete disadvantage, but Thor also knows that Loki would never harm him – he may take everything he can get, but it’s an unspoken rule that Loki can never hurt Thor with their bodies. Sharp hips and teeth and edges Loki may possess, but it’s his words that he relies on to deal the blows.

“I dream of you.” He licks into Thor’s neck, as sincere as Loki ever gets, writing the words with his sliver tongue.

“And what do you dream of me?” Thor doesn’t struggle. He relaxes into his bonds, Loki’s cool touch. His brother is a mix of contradictions jumbled up into one entity, calm and dispassionate to mask the needy insistence that lurks behind his caresses and games.

“I dream,” Loki breathes against his neck like the very possibility is astounding, “that you are on your knees before me. You have surrendered. You want nothing more than my benediction, begging for my hand upon you.” He punctuates it with a careless brush of his fingertips over Thor’s lips – “And how pretty you beg. You want me to take you and use you, _control_ you.”

His smooth, dark words flow over Thor, painting himself as a king and the god can’t help but be entranced. “Do you grant me your touch?” He arches up into his brother’s fingertips, practically aching for that comfort already, but Loki draws away with a sneer.

“Touch you? Never; I am above such mundane things. It is enough satisfaction for me to see you grovel.” He’s condescending even as he sits across Thor’s thighs, sparing no care or sympathy.

“Do you often spurn your lovers while yet in bed with them?” It’s half teasing, half honest curiosity that drives Thor to voice his displeasure with Loki.

“Frequently.”

“Then how, my brother, do you still manage to obtain bed-partners?”

“There are some that pay no care as to how I address them, so long as they leave satisfied.” It’s deliberate. He grins, predatory in his victory. Thor has a vague idea Loki’s been waiting to trap him with the knowledge since before their game.

“You have bedded my lady?” He suspects he should take it as the insult Loki offered, but his mind flits to half-formed ideas of Loki putting his talented tongue to work between the lady’s legs, and Thor cannot find the anger which would be appropriate within himself.

“Of course.” He would smile like that too – pull her apart with his tongue and offer no comfort in the aftermath – and of course Sif would have been just as cold to him… But that’s all Loki offers. He doesn’t continue to taunt Thor, doesn’t recall details of their encounters. He’s silent. Watching Thor.

“Why?” He struggles with the bonds Loki has created for him for the first time, and doesn’t notice the sudden trepidation to darken his brother’s eyes.

“She is yours.” Loki shrugs, “I wanted-” He realizes his mistake and his jaw snaps shut with an audible popping noise as he falls silent.

“I thought you deemed yourself above such wants?” Thor teases, but he bends his knees, lifting Loki’s weight with no great effort until the recalcitrant has no choice but to slide down onto his chest or risk tumbling.

Somehow Loki manages to make it look graceful, but he ends up where Thor wanted him nonetheless. His palms on Thor’s chest, he’s close enough that Thor can feel his brother’s breath against his lips. “Desire is no great weakness,” He schools Loki, “He who would set aside pleasure for power,”

“Will rule those who seek their short-sighted pleasure.”

“Will have no one with which to share their victory.”

“There are always ones to share in victory.” Loki growls, suddenly fierce, “They love you until the spoils have cooled, and then there is nothing but power which makes them stay.”

His gaze is frighteningly intense, fixed unwaveringly above the line of Thor’s gaze, where he determines his manacles must be. “Do you truly believe I would leave you if not for the power you exert over me brother?”

“I see no need to find out.” His voice is ice cold, calculated, face a perfect mask when he meets Thor’s eyes. Loki smirks often, so it’s not out of character, but Thor cannot help but notice how infrequently his smiles ever reach his eyes. “The things you say, the way you bend to my will when I have you… I could make you do the most _degrading_ things brother.”

“What would you have me do?” Thor asks him, canting his hips to regain Loki’s attention, “Lick your boots? Prance about on your leash like a common beast? There is no need for your games Loki. I offer myself to please you, because I love you. Is it really so hard to comprehend? Your own blindness holds you back.”

Loki regards him shrewdly, but the manacles around his wrists release Thor, a few pink flowers falling to the bed in their place. “You are a charming fool Thor,” He grins, “and a king does not make promises he cannot keep.”

“Perhaps,” He has to reach forward to grab Loki by his upper arms before the trickster can widen the distance between them again, because Thor has seen that look in his eyes and it means Loki is done talking, “I desire you more than I desire to rule.”

His eyes widen in surprise, the smile wiped right off of his face. Growing up, Loki was used to Thor being all about _grand_ words and even more grandiose gestures. He’d parrot words like ‘lover’ and ‘brother’ with nary a clue as to just how much they meant. Loki always appreciated the nuances there, but there’s no mistaking this. “You don’t mean that.”

“And if I do?” Thor holds his brother’s gaze easily. “Would you truly have me give up the throne, brother?"

Loki tilts his head slightly, focusing a frightening amount of scrutiny on him now. His eyes are narrowed, lips pursed. It’s the most attention he’s ever given to something originating from Thor’s lips, and Thor can see the clash of desire warring with suspicion.

“Then you would take my affections as insincere.” Loki returns finally, so confident that he’s found a string for Thor to attach.

“Your affections are already insincere.” Thor teases him, raising a hand to Loki’s face to demonstrate how the other will pull away, and Loki does not disappoint. He leans back, eyes narrowing again. Thor’s grip on the arm he still holds tightens reflexively, a defense against being left behind should Loki take offense. He is well aware how what delights his brother one day seems to mortally offend him the next.

“I should hope to be as insincere as you portray me.” He tugs ineffectually against Thor’s hold, but gives up when he realizes it to be a losing battle. Loki leans in once more until his lithe body is flush with Thor’s. Lips ghost across his neck, and Thor can feel Loki’s proclamations into his skin as he hears them, “Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

Before Thor can react Loki has already pulled back, sitting up on his chest to survey his reaction. “Midgardian poetry?”

“Ah, verily, I was but a frail and fickle muse in its creation. My sentiment, however, remains unchanged.” There’s a secret lurking in his green gaze, but Thor doesn’t pursue it. He knows better; though how his brother has been to Midgard since the early ages puzzles him greatly.

Thor sighs, relaxing back against his bed. In truth, he is weary of his brother’s endless games. “Is it not enough for you to simply say you love me,” He has to ask, “or must you always proceed through poetics and dramatics?”

Loki just smirks in response. “The one who would claim to forfeit his throne for attention does not appreciate dramatics.” He states, and his grin remains as he looks to Thor, silently daring him to contradict himself.

“Loki, you toy with me.” Thor protests instead. “Please. If you truly love me, you’ll stop these games.”

“What would you have me do?” His brother appears honestly curious looking down on him. It’s not often that Thor makes a request of Loki.

“Do not play me fool with my affections. Have me sincerely, or not at all.”

Loki's eyes narrow once more. “And what of me is sincere to your eyes, dear brother? Would you reject me for any perceived insincerity, or pick and choose what you'd wish to hear?” He's angry; that much is immediately obvious. “Shall you continue to believe of me whatever strikes your fancy, or risk trusting that perhaps a sentiment of truth may sometimes spout from my silver tongue?”

He's wrecked this royally. Thor grimaces under Loki's onslaught. “Brother. Loki, I didn't mean-”  


“You always mean what you say, Odinson.” His tone is cold, unfeeling, “you have not the brains to mislead.” He brings his open palm down on Thor's chest – it stings, but it's hardly the reprimand Thor was expecting. “Don't come groveling to me again 'lest I tire of your pathetic drivel.”

With that, Loki vanishes, dense black smoke falling from the place he once occupied across Thor's hips. The sudden lightness doesn't even register though – a heavy feeling in Thor's gut settling in as he realizes just how badly he seems to have ruined this night, and in so little words.

Loki has always been fickle, has always held a temper quick to be afflicted no matter how infrequently he shows it. And Thor knows better to chase after him now, knows not where his brother will have gone, even. He sits up and puts his head in his hands for a moment, then sweeps the flowers from his bed as if they don't matter, as if the conundrum that is Loki doesn't matter half as much as he does.

They're oleander; Thor can't help but notice. As poisonous as they are pretty.


End file.
